The Space Between: Camp Cousland
by Squeeze-the-Fish
Summary: The ins and outs of living through the Blight. Featuring fem!Cousland and Co.. Rated "T" for now. A series of drabbles/oneshots ranging from -but not restricted to- humor to romance.
1. Not Just a Pretty Face

Disclaimer: Dragon Age does not belong to me and I do not profit by shamelessly whoring its characters the way I do.

_Author's Note: I didn't mean for it to sound so similar to the actual dialog in the game, but after seeing that it was headed that way, I just kind of went with it. _

* * *

"Would you leave all of this, if you could?"

Alistair's sudden question startles her after several hours of walking in silence.

She wants to tell him that she _can _leave and the fact that she _hasn't_ should have given him answer enough not to ask the question.

But she doesn't.

Because that's not what he wants to hear.

"No. We have a duty to Ferelden, to the land and its people. To all of Thedas, really. It's not like the Blight would just stay here if we left."

He arches an eyebrow and surprises her with his next words.

"What a very leaderly thing of you to say. But I want to know the truth. If you could leave, would you? I'm sure _someone_ would step up to take your place, might even be me if things got desperate enough."

She wants to tell him _yes, but only if it meant being able to go back to the way things were_. Before the Blight. Before her family was slain.

But that was impossible so-

"No. Especially not if it meant _you_ might have to lead. Can you imagine? We'd all be doomed." She tries to laugh him off, but he doesn't join her so she quickly stops.

"You know, I'm usually the one who deflects questions with humor. I really feel that I'm the most qualified to do it, so you should stick something else because it's my role and you can't have it." He cracks a smile but then stares at her expectantly.

She sighs heavily.

"I don't know, Alistair. I try not to think about it-"

"I think there's a lot you try not to think about," he interrupts her but his voice is solemn and it catches her off guard.

Because it's true. Just how he knows this, she isn't quite sure.

"Where is this coming from?" she asks irritably because this is not the Alistair she's come to expect and she doesn't like where this conversation is going.

Sensing her frustration, he backtracks, shaking his head slowly as he struggles with his words.

"I only meant that… well, it's not exactly like anyone _asked_ you if you wanted to be the leader, it was just kind of forced on you, wasn't it? I guess I'm just wondering if… it just doesn't seem like that's the sort of thing that ought to be _forced_ on someone. Especially not with a task as great as ours."

She doesn't answer right away, because she doesn't know how.

_You're right?_

That hardly seems the appropriate thing to say and she suspects he might panic if she does.

Still, it _is_ slightly endearing that Alistair, of all people, was thoughtful enough to consider her feelings in their situation. Truthfully, she didn't think him capable of such 'deep' thinking and feels slightly guilty for it.

Perhaps she'd underestimated her fellow Warden.

So she rallies her will and pushes down her self-pity and answers.

"I appreciate your concern, Alistair. Thank you. But no, I would not leave. Where would I go, anyhow? My home is destroyed, my family dead. My place is with the Wardens."

And then, as an afterthought,

"With you."

And she's sufficiently pleased by the blush that rushes to his cheeks because she is an evil, evil woman.


	2. Purple Velvet

_Author's Note: I meant for this to be a bit flirtier, but oh well. Warden-Commander Cousland and Anders after a battle. Post-Blight._

* * *

She wiped the back of her gauntlet across her mouth which should have hurt, but didn't, and spit out what she hoped was her own blood but had a sickening suspicion wasn't.

"Everyone alive?" she called out wearily as was her custom.

She was met with a few tired affirmatives and one expletive which probably came from Nathaniel though her ears were ringing loud enough that it was hard to be sure.

Satisfied, she sheathed her sword and set to the task of rummaging through the bodies for any valuables that might be had.

"Is this completely necessary?" Anders complained from her right, "I find it a bit macabre, really. I mean, we _are _pillaging the _dead. _I'm no devoted disciple of Andraste or anything, but this just feels…wrong."

"In case you forgot, _they_ tried to kill _us_ first." She rolled a body over with the toe of her boot. The helmet looked decent. "And what do you suggest? We leave these things for darkspawn?"

"No, I don't think we should just leave everything for the darkspawn. But couldn't we bury them or burn them or…something that doesn't involve touching them once they're dead?"

She stopped her rummaging for a moment to consider.

"I suppose we could burn the bodies afterward," she said, "That'd be up to you though since I seem to be short one fire-on-command ability but frankly, I don't have the time or desire even if I did." She decided the helmet was worth taking –it looked like it might be dragon bone- and stepping on the corpse's chest, she pulled the thing off.

"You have time to ransack the corpses, but not give them the decency of a proper burial? Remind me never to die around you," he muttered sullenly.

"What?" she asked irritably, "Don't you think they would have done the same to us? I mean just look at your robes, anyone could tell they'd fetch a fine price. And don't think I don't know about your _luxury_ undergarments. I saw your little purchase at the last vender. Purple velvet, if I remember right.I bet they'd leave you stark-naked for all of Ferelden to see. And have you ever actually seen corpse penis? It's not a pretty sight. That's what any passersby would have to see; dead-Ander's penis. Is that really how you want to go out? Is it?"

He stared at her wide-eyed for a moment before thumbing the area behind him.

"I think I'll just go over there."

"Good idea," she barked after him, trying -with little success- to stifle a smile.


	3. Distractions

They were less than a day away from Redcliffe, but despite her attempts to sway her companions to continue on through the night- they simply would not listen.

Morrigan claimed that she could no longer travel with Alistair until he had bathed because '_even your dog avoids him,'_ Alistair- betrayer that he was- _agreed (_though somewhat bashfully_)_ with the witch, and Leliana complained that her feet were too sore to go any further in '_these poorly-made Ferelden boots_'.

Indeed, the only two willing to suck it up and solider on were Sten and Dog, which didn't exactly add credence to her cause. It was with much resentment and quite a bit of exaggerated sighing (that no one seemed to be listening to) that Elissa was forced to halt their march to Redcliffe.

"_Now_, Alistair," Morrigan commanded as soon as they'd found a suitable spot for camp. "And take the mongrel with you."

Dog huffed indignantly but otherwise obeyed, following an embarrassed-looking Alistair out of camp, leaving his owner to brood on her own.

It was just the whole principle of the thing! Yes, she realized Alistair's stench had gotten out of hand, and _yes, _under _normal_ circumstances she wouldn't have _dreamed_ of letting him go so long without bathing, but didn't they realize that you couldn't possibly be properly cleansed in a _river_? A dirty, questionably colored, insect-breeding-ground hardly qualified as a place to wash one's self.

And Redcliffe was just so close! If only they could carry on for _one more night_, she was sure the Arl would welcome the Wardens (and their guests) into his estate where they would find a much more suitable place to rest and tend to their needs. Even if the Arl was as sick as had been rumored, Isolde would not turn away a Warden.

She let out another sigh and sourly began pitching her tent.

* * *

Sometime later, after Elissa had finished with her tent, Dog dashed out of the woods and flopped down next to her, followed shortly by Alistair- a very top-exposed, dripping wet, Alistair- who announced that the river was now free.

She immediately began rummaging through her pack, trying to look anywhere but at her fellow Grey Warden.

It was awkward each time Alistair came back from bathing. It wasn't as if she couldn't tell just from looking at him that he had a body built for battle. It was one thing to acknowledge it when he was fully armored, but quite another to be faced with his gleaming muscles that flexed rather attractively when he-

No.

Just…no. She was not going to go down _that_ road.

Naturally, he would choose that moment to walk _right_ in front of her, giving her an exquisite view of his hardened chest. And of course he caught her, staring at her like he did when he thought she wouldn't notice. With a scowl, she turned away.

_Why on earth couldn't he just go to bed? _she thoughtscathingly_, What business did he have parading around camp like that_?

"What?" she barked- as if _he_ were the one who got caught.

"Nothing," he mumbled uncomfortably and she silently thanked the Maker he wasn't very perceptive when it came to women.

She then turned her back to him, in an effort to salvage what dignity she had left and busied herself with her maps. Getting to Redcliffe would be easy. Hopefully, they could figure out what was ailing the Arl and obtain a pledge for troops without too much delay, and it looked as if the Circle Tower would be the next logical stop, if only for its close proximity to Redcliffe.

She had to admit though, if the mages in the tower were anything like Morrigan, she would rather not go at all. Perhaps they could send a messenger with their summons? Or perhaps they could get along without the mage's help.

She squeezed the bridge of her nose. That was ridiculous. She had seen Morrigan's power in battle. The mages would be an invaluable force when fighting the darkspawn.

"Something the matter?" Alistair asked from an alarmingly close distance. She nearly fell off the log she was seated on, in an effort to put more space between them.

"No, no, I'm quite alright, thank you," she said, eyes flicking to anywhere but him.

"I know you're upset about stopping," he whispered and leaned in, "But maybe tomorrow we can get an early start and reach Redcliffe before noon."

She didn't really hear him, though. He was far too close and she was far too occupied with averting her gaze, to listen to what he had to say. In an act of desperation, she closed her eyes completely.

"Yes, well… I appreciate your concern," she fumbled, "But I assure you, I'm quite alright." Aaaand now she was repeating herself.

"Riiight," he said skeptically.

She tried again. "…It's just that…"

She opened her eyes just a fraction, before promptly squeezing them shut, tighter than before.

"If you must know, I'm not used to traveling in such conditions. Before Ostagar I…" She stopped suddenly, furious with herself.

Duncan had cautioned against letting the others know of her origins. _They might treat you differently_, he'd warned, _if they don't already._ When she'd questioned his meaning, he vaguely mentioned that there weren't many women in the Grey Wardens, and refused to elaborate.

Now she was in an even worse mood than before. She had almost revealed her identity all because of her neglected libido decided to make a stand.

Well, she was not going to be bested by this. She was a Grey Warden now, and pushed into the position of leader- she simply did not have time to tend to her wounded sex-drive.

Marshalling all her will, she sat up strait and opened her eyes, careful to look only on his face and spoke.

"Andraste's Blood! Will you put on some clothes? I can't concentrate with your gleaming pectorals in my face!"


End file.
